grips my neck, squeezes hard. ‘Neck bone’s connected to the head bone,’ he sings. He puts a fist on my forehead. ‘Head bone’s connected to the dick bone.’
He howls and Iwan Krol looks up from his plate, runs his dead brown eyes over the scene. Darren straightens up, collects himself immediately. Iwan drops his head back down to his plate of massacred crab.
‘Dickhead,’ I whisper. I lean closer to him this time. ‘What are you talking about, the bones?’
‘Forget about it,’ he says, digging his chopsticks into his rice.
I slap his shoulder with the back of my hand. ‘Don’t be a prick,’ I say.
‘Why do you care so much anyway? You gonna write about it one day in The Courier-Mail?’ he asks.
‘I need to know this shit,’ I say. ‘I’m workin’ for Lyle for a bit.’
Darren’s eyes light up.
‘What doin’?’
‘I’m gonna watch out for things,’ I say proudly.
‘What?’ Darren howls. He leans back in his chair, belly-laughing. ‘Ha! Tinkerbell is gonna watch out for things. Well, praise the Lord and kiss my balls! Tinkerbell is on watch! And what exactly will you be watching out for?’
‘Details,’ I say.
‘Details?’ he barks, slapping his knees now. ‘What sort of details? Like, today I’m wearing green jocks and white socks?’
‘Yep,’ I say. ‘Everything. All the tiny little details. Details is knowledge, Slim says. Knowledge is power.’
‘This is a full-time gig Lyle’s gonna put you on?’ Darren asks.
‘Watching never stops,’ I say. ‘It’s a 24/7 concern.’
‘What have you been watching tonight?’
‘Tell me about dem bones and I’ll tell you what I’ve been watching.’
‘Tell me about the watching and I’ll tell you about dem bones, Tink.’
I take a deep breath. I look across the table. Lyle’s best friend, Teddy, is still staring across the table at my mum. I’ve seen men look at my mum like that before. Teddy has big black curly hair and olive skin, a thick black moustache, the kind Slim says are worn by men with big egos and small pricks. Slim says he wouldn’t want to share a cell with Teddy. He never says why. Teddy’s got some Italian in him, some Greek maybe, from his mum’s side. He catches me staring at him staring at her. He smiles. I’ve seen that smile before.
‘How you boys goin’?’ Teddy asks, shouting across the noise of the dinner table.
‘Good thanks, Teddy,’ I say.
‘How you goin’, Gussy?’ Teddy says, raising a beer glass to August. August holds a cup of lemonade up in toast to Teddy, raises a half-hearted left eyebrow.
‘That’s the way, boys,’ Teddy smiles, giving a hearty wink.
I lean back to Darren. ‘The tiny little details,’ I say. ‘A million and one details in a single setting. The way you hold your chopsticks with that kink in your right forefinger. The smell of your armpits and the bong water stain on the bottom of your button-up shirt. The woman sitting over there with the birthmark on her shoulder shaped like Africa. The way Tytus’s daughter, Hanna, hasn’t eaten anything but a few forkfuls of rice tonight. Tytus hasn’t taken his hand off her left thigh in more than thirty minutes. Your mum slipped an envelope to our friendly local member and then our friendly local member went to the toilet and when he came back he sat in his chair and raised his wineglass to your mum who was standing by the drinks fridge. She smiled and nodded then went downstairs to talk to the old and large Vietnamese man sitting by the stage watching that awful singer work her way through “New York Mining Disaster 1941” by the Bee Gees. There’s a kid over by the trout tank poking fish with a sparkler. And that kid’s big sister is Thuy Chan and she’s in Year 8 at Jindalee High and she’s looking so fucking beautiful tonight in that yellow dress and she’s looked over here at you four times so far tonight and you’re too much of a stoned arsehead to even notice.’
Darren looks down at the bottom-floor dining area and Thuy Chan catches his eye and smiles, pulls a clump of her straight black hair away from her face. He immediately turns away. ‘Shit, Bell,’ he says. ‘You’re right.’ He shakes his head. ‘I thought it was just a bunch of arseholes having dinner.’
‘Tell me ’bout dem bones,’ I say.
Darren chugs a lemonade, straightens his jacket and pants. He leans in close to me again and we stare across at the subject of our discussion, Iwan Krol.